Follow You Down
by Nights Sleepless
Summary: But, when we get busted for being drunk in your office, we can plea curiosity. Bolivia. Set after The Road Not Taken.


So, this is pretty random. One of those things where you sit down and just start writing without a real sense of direction or plan. Set after "The Road Not Taken". Anyways, I hope you like it :)

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It was precisely 11:43 p.m. when she heard the door to her office open. She had been leaning down, looking for a paper on the bottom drawer of her desk. Her first instinct was to sit up straight, but the annoyance that anyone would walk in without knocking made her stubborn. So, ignoring them as they had so rudely ignored her privacy, she continued shifting through her bottom drawer. Hopefully it would make the intruder uncomfortable.

But the intruder didn't make their presence any further known. Didn't walk up to her desk at all. Instead, she listened to them step over to the large cabinet on the other side of the room. Instantly, her anger flared. Oh, so they were going to waltz in unannounced, but they were also going to rifle through her stuff like it belonged to them? Who was to say they could even tell she was in the room? She _was_ hunched over behind her desk. So that meant they would do all this behind her back!

That immediately gave Olivia further motivation to sit up. Catch them in the act. Dropping the papers she had in her hand back into the drawer, she sat up quickly.

"Peter?"

He was crouching down by the bottom drawer of the cabinet, his hand reaching in. From her view, she could see most of his profile, his eyes closing slowly at her voice. Indeed, it was Peter. She felt a wave of pleasure at seeing him hit her, covering up the annoyance completely. But, she quickly discarded that by labeling it curiosity as why he was doing what he was.

"What... what are you doing?"

He shifted from one foot to the other, blocking her view of the cabinet. "Failing at being sneaky, it appears. Miserably," he answered. Slowly, he stood up. When he turned, Olivia saw the bottle of alcohol she had let him use for his coffee earlier that day in his left hand.

"You broke into my office... to steal that?" She couldn't help the edges of her mouth from twitching, wanting to grow into a smile.

"Broke into?" He scoffed, relaxing upon seeing she wasn't going to lecture him or something, and made his way to her desk. "It wasn't even locked, sweetheart." Casually, he placed the bottle on the desk with a solid _thud_. Reaching over, he grabbed the back of the black chair, which had been pushed aside during a thought process, and pulled it in front of the desk. "That's not breaking in. That's curiosity," he explained as he took a seat, a smirk on his face.

"Curiosity," she repeated, nodding. "And if I shoot you in the leg twice if you ever do that again, can I plea 'curiosity'?" She tilted her head, struggling to keep a straight face.

"Certainly not." He scooted his chair closer, and her heartbeat quickened. "_But_, when we get busted for being drunk in your office, we can plea curiosity." Then he winked, adding, "Among other things."

Biting her lip, she blinked, shaking her head. Heat rushed to her face but she promptly ignored it. It _was_ a rough day. What with a pyrokenetic girl, Olivia seeing alternate realities, and then confronting Walter an hour and a half ago. Which, she hoped Peter never learned about. Sighing, she sat back in her seat, closing her eyes. It made her feel guilty just looking at Peter. Even if he was hesitant on admitting it, that boy could get very protective of his father.

She heard movement, and her eyes snapped open. He had stood up, making his way around the desk to her side. She swiveled her chair around to face him, sitting up straight. What the hell was he doing? Crouching down on one knee, he opened her top drawer and rummaged through the files inside.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. A freckle on the back of his neck caught her eye, which led her to discover from this point of view she could see down his shirt collar.

"Looking," he answered simply, and she was forced to look back at what he was doing. He had moved onto her third drawer, pawing through. Picking up a pair of handcuffs, he dangled them from one finger, looking at her suggestively. "I'll have to remember where these are," he noted before putting them back and moving the the next drawer.

Choosing to ignore his comment, she leaned towards him. He smelt like blueberry pie, most likely from the diner she had found Walter at, and a hint of alcohol. Rolling her eyes, she sat back in her desk. Figured he'd only come here when he ran out of his own. A feeling of disappointment hit her and she could barely care at the way he moved to the drawers on the other side of her. Hell, he might have even came reluctantly. He _did_ sneak in.

"Found them!" Peter exclaimed, standing up straight. Lifting her head, she saw two small glasses in his hands. He moved back to his seat, placing the glasses on the table.

"Where's Walter?" Olivia asked, trying to appear as playful as she had been when he first started talking.

"I dropped him off at the lab about a half an hour ago," he answered, pouring the tempting liquid into the glasses. "He's listening to his music."

The glass made a scraping sound as he pushed it towards her. Looking up at him, he winked at her, taking a sip from his own glass. She hesitated, bringing her hand up to rest next to the glass. She felt that old guilty feeling when she drank on work grounds. But, she'd seen many other agents spending late nights in their office, a suspicious looking glass in their hands, solemn, tired eyes. It was sad, really, but something you had to come to accept working here.

Keeping her eyes down, she rolled the glass in circles between her hands. It was quite for a moment, but she could feel Peter's eyes on her. It was hard not to, considering every time he looked at her she got this burning sensation in the back of her throat. Like she wanted to say something, anything, just to prolong his stare. Sighing, she slowly lifted the glass, placing it against her lips. Closing her eyes, she tipped it to let the alcohol slip into her mouth, down her burning throat.

Placing the glass down, she bit her lip. "That's my girl," Peter joked, refilling her glass. Even if it was just a phrase, something said without much thought, she felt a thrill at the word '_my_'. _His_ girl. It made her down the second glass more eagerly.

"So," she said before clearing her throat.

"So?" Peter prompted, raising his eyebrows.

He leaned forward to refill her glass. He himself was only on his first glass, and that was a little more than half full. "Why are you trying to get me drunk?

"Well," he said, dragging the word. "There's really only one reason why I'd get a girl drunk." Her eyebrows shot up, and her grip on the glass tightened. Could she _really_ be feeling hopeful? Embarrassed, she dropped her gaze to her glass. Then she realized how obvious that was, and she looked back up at him, tilting her head. "But," he continued.

"Ah, a but."

"But, I know you're not that kinda girl." _I could be. _"And I'm not the kind of guy who'd do that to you." _You don't know that. _"The real reason was, Liv, you deserve to have a drink more than anyone right now."

She let a slow, sad smile spread across her face to mask her disappointment. "Today was..."

"Horrific," he finished for her. "Well... except for Spock. That was uncomfortably enjoyable."

She chuckled, nodding her head. "I guess," she agreed. Slowly, she let her eyes drop to look at her glass. Today _had_ been horrific. Alternate realities... almost being burned alive. Then watching _Harris_ burn alive. A million and one questions, but only two and half answers. She hated to say this was almost a normal day for her. Even if none of them were normal. Her _life_ wasn't 'normal'. Sinking into her seat, she continued to stare at the glass.

"Hey," Peter whispered, but she didn't look up at him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shift. Like he was going to get out of the chair, but he stopped, hesitated, and sat back. Lifting her eyes, she saw him watching her, concern soaking his face, but confusion in his eyes. He didn't know how to comfort her, what she wanted him to do. So, sitting up straight, she squared her shoulders and propped her elbows up on the table.

"Broyles, while he wasn't very fond of Harris that much anymore, decided that tomorrow I shouldn't come into work. It'll drive me insane, but I can be with Ella. You can do whatever you want tomorrow. Go to the lab, don't go to the lab. It's all the same." Sighing, she took a sip before clearing her throat again. "Unless, of course, we get another case. Then we'll, uh... we'll have to... work." She put the glass on the desk and rubbed her temples.

"You okay?" Peter asked her.

"What?" She lifted her head to look at him. "Oh, um... yeah. Yeah, I'm great." When in fact, her head was killing her. Out of no where, she was receiving a massive headache.

"Hot chocolate with whipped cream." Blinking, Olivia tilted her head. "It helps me when I get headaches. Don't ask how I found it out, or why it does, but it helps." Then, he nodded. "And it doesn't work without the whip cream."

Sucking in a breath, she let it out before smiling. "I'll try that when I get home," she promised.

"Speaking of which," he said, loudly, and she tried not to wince. "You should get home soon. It's been a long day for you, and I'm sure you would rather be in a big, warm bed. Rather than sitting here, with me." She hated the way he sounded when he added the last two words.

"Don't be ridiculous, Peter. I love being with you." She instantly froze, her face going blank. Did she really just say that aloud? It must be the alcohol, mixed with the headache and stress. She opened her mouth to fix herself, but then thought against it. _To hell with being professional, and a cold, distant agent._

Slowly, his head tilted to the side. That small, knowing smile spread across his lips, his eyes going soft. "The feeling's mutual," he said, charmingly. He smiled at her for a moment longer, before jumping up to a stand. Putting the lid back on the bottle, he downed his glass. She did the same, opening the desk drawer and dropping her glass in, grabbing his to put it in as well. Closing the drawer with a _thud_, she stood up from her desk.

Walking around her desk, she was surprised when Peter held open her jacket for her. Hesitating, she watched him. Then, feeling guilty, she complied and turned around so her back faced him. He stepped towards her, and she slipped her arms in. He pushed the jacket over her shoulders, and she felt her back pressed against his chest. Was that his breath on her neck? All she could do was stand there dumbly. Did she even _want_ to move?

"Do you want me to drive you home?" he asked, his voice low right by her ear.

_Yes. Yes, I would love you to. _Her mouth twitched, but the words didn't come out. She could barely focus, her mind screaming at his hands on her shoulders, his hot breath that was indeed on her neck. She turned her face to the side and felt his lips graze just below her ear. Her face flushed and she bit her bottom lip. His grip on her shoulders tightened, just barely, but it was enough to bring her back to reality.

Catching her breath, she stepped forward, turning around to face him. His eyes flickered down to her cheeks, which were so clearly blushing, before moving back to look her in the eye. His hands dropped to his sides, balling into fists.

"I... I think I'll just call Rachel..." How weak did _that_ sound!

"You sure?" he asked, taking a step backwards and toward the door. He reached into his pocket and pulled his keys out, dangling them. "You don't want to wake Rachel up. Besides, have you ever ridden in this baby? Pushing fifty miles an hour, the _brand new engine_ purring, people giving you weird looks. Cause, really, who the hell sees a station wagon like that anymore!"

She hesitated, smiling, and he waited patiently. "Um... no, really. I'm fine. I have to take something up to Broyles office, anyway. I'll see you later."

He watched her for a moment before snatching his keys back. "Okay," he said, "I'll see you later. Night."

"Night!" He turned around, pulling open her office door before exiting, not throwing a second glance over his shoulder.

After watching him go, she placed her hands on the desk and leaned down. Closing her eyes, she sucked in a deep breath, holding it in for a moment before releasing it. He could never know the effect he had on her. Now she could go home and forget this ever happened. Like she did night after night, erasing her thoughts of him as soon as her head hit the pillow. It was the only way she could get to sleep.


End file.
